


Coffee and Flowers

by angelsfalling16



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, I honestly have no idea, Light Angst, M/M, SnowBaz, and it's an AU, and they've just met, does that count?, flower shop au, half of it's set at a flower shop, kind of, they're both college students
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-10
Updated: 2019-01-10
Packaged: 2019-10-07 12:43:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17366066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelsfalling16/pseuds/angelsfalling16
Summary: Simon thinks Baz is up to something (what's new?) so he follows him to try to find out what he's up to. It turns out that the thing Baz is doing isn't bad at all, and Simon's even decides to help him.





	Coffee and Flowers

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to everyone on Tumblr who encouraged me to post this fic. <3

**Simon**

I sit outside this coffee shop every morning before school, even in the worst of weather. Right now, it’s chilly, and the sun is struggling to break through the clouds as piles of leaves swirl around in the road, making small tornadoes.

There is a boy who I see every day that goes into the flower shop at 7:45 every morning. There is nothing consistent about his visits except that he does it every day. Well, every week day at least. I don’t come here on the weekends. He stays in there for different times each day and comes out with a different kind of flower and different amount of them each time. I don’t know what he does with those flowers, but I am sure that he can’t be taking them home. There is no way that they would all fit in a house. Unless he threw the old ones out each day. Which would just be wasteful.

The boy wears the darkest clothes, as if prepared for a casual funeral every day, yet he comes out with the brightest flowers. I don’t what this guy does with the flowers, but he has to be up to something. No one buys that many flowers and _isn’t_ up to something. After several weeks of watching this, I am determined to find out what he is up to.

**Baz**

Every day, I get up early in the morning before classes and walk to the little flower shop that my aunt works at. She gives me the flowers that she didn’t sell and that she probably would have given away anyway, and I walk with them to the cemetery that is a couple of streets over.

I used to only come to this cemetery once a month with my flowers, but now, I come nearly every day.

It all began one day just after the semester had begun. I was feeling lonely in classes and having a hard time getting used to not having the same schedule of classes every day of the week. On the one hand, it was freeing, but on the other hand, I had to find a way to fill in all of that time. I don’t have a lot of friends, so it got lonely.

I decided to go to my mom’s grave, and Fiona told me to take some of the flowers from her shop with me to place by her grave. After carefully placing the flowers, I looked around at the other graves and noticed that almost none of them had any flowers. It looked like people rarely ever came out ever, except for the caretakers. It’s probably too close to the school for people to want to face traffic enough to come here more than once or twice a year.

That is when I got the idea to bring flowers from Fiona’s shop every day and add them to a new gravestone so that the cemetery would be filled with beautiful flowers. It allows me to come visit my mom every day and to have something to look forward to every morning.

My aunt thought that my idea was a bit strange at first, but she couldn’t say no to me. I’m her favorite. I think that if she didn’t have to work, she might come with me, at least to visit my mom’s grave every once in a while. I’m secretly glad that she doesn’t, which makes me feel bad. It’s just that I like being alone with my mom’s grave.

Whenever my project is complete, I’ll bring Fiona here so that she can see that the cemetery is as bright as my mom once was. I’ll probably have to start over as soon as I finish, or even before that, as the flowers start to die, but I feel like it is worth it. I am doing something beautiful in my mom’s honor, and I have to hope that she would be proud of that.

**Simon**

The next day, I get my coffee to go and wait for the guy to show up. I am determined to find out whatever nefarious thing he is up to. I feel like a creep, standing outside the coffee shop, staring the flower shop down, and I probably am. What other kind of person decides to follow some stranger to who knows where?

I see him walking up the street and casually sip my coffee, hoping he doesn’t notice me staring. I wait almost five minutes for him to exit the shop again with a fistful of flowers. I wait another minute until he turns down a side road before I start to follow after him.

I follow him down the side walk and across two streets before he turns down the next one. I don’t think he even stops to see if any cars are coming. It’s like he has a death wish or something.

He doesn’t notice me following him, and I almost stop when I see him enter the cemetery. What is he doing here? I consider turning around, but I’ve come too far to turn back now, so I follow him.

He walks past rows of headstones with careful steps. When he turns to face one of them, he sees me. For some reason, I’m expecting him to be surprised to see me. Like it would be some huge shock to him that I’m there, but there is no reason for it to be.

He probably thinks that I’m just there to visit a grave. He hasn’t seen me like I’ve seen him. I feel really stupid now. I just followed some guy into a cemetery for no reason at all, and I’m not sure what to do. I just stand there like an idiot, watching him clear leaves from around the headstone and placing flowers beside it. I don’t even have the sense to make it look like I came here for something. Gosh, I’m a fool. And a stalker. I wouldn’t be surprised if he called the cops.

**Baz**

Some guy walks into the cemetery and just stares at me. At first, I think that maybe he knows the person whose grave I’m placing flowers by today, but he doesn’t make any move towards it, so maybe I’m wrong. He has barely taken two steps into the cemetery, like he is afraid to be here.

I keep glancing up at him, thinking that he will be gone when I do, but he doesn’t move. I think he might have followed me here, which is downright creepy. I might be a bit more worried if he didn’t look like some college student. And if he wasn’t so cute.

I shouldn’t be thinking about how good looking my stalker is, but I can’t help it. The way the sun hits his curly bronze hair is unbelievably beautiful.

I have to pass by him on the way out of the cemetery, but I still haven’t figured out whether he is a threat to me or just some cute, mysterious guy. There is no other way out of the cemetery, so I don’t have a choice but to walk by him.

I take a deep breath and try not to look at him as I get closer, but I fail. I have to get a better look at him. When our eyes meet, I freeze. I don’t know what it is. It’s not like his eyes are any special color. They’re just blue, and a simple blue at that. But something stops me, and we just stand there.

“What’s with the flowers?” He asks, as if he is accusing me of something.

“We’re in a cemetery,” I sneer, unable to stop myself from getting annoyed at the fact that this cute guy is being rude. “Take a guess,” I tell him.

He frowns like he was expecting a different answer. I don’t know why. What else would I be doing in a cemetery? Meeting my secret lover? As if.

“I’m bringing flowers to all of the graves.” I don’t know why I’m telling him this. I don’t owe him any kind of explanation.

“All of them?”

“Yes.”

“Why?” He asks, tilting his head slightly to the side.

I sigh. “Come on,” I tell him. “Let’s walk and talk.”

I start walking towards the entrance, not looking back. He can follow me if he wants, or he can stay here. I have a class to get to.

“All of the graves?” He asks again, falling into step beside me.

“I thought it would be a nice thing to do.”

“Why?” He’s like a child with the nonstop questioning.

“I just did. No else really comes here. My aunt owns the flower shop. She gives me old flowers, and I bring them here.” I talk like I’m just listing off facts, not wanting to open up to some stranger about my mom’s grave being in the cemetery, but then I do. I don’t what it is about this guy that makes me want to tell him. I just can’t seem to stop talking, though. “My mom’s grave is there. I visit her, and I like to bring flowers for the other graves as well.”

“That’s really nice.” I don’t say anything. “Could I help?” He asks after a moment.

“Why?” It’s my turn to do the questioning.

He shrugs. “It seems like a really nice thing to do, and I would love to help out with it.” He pauses for a moment. “But only if you want me to.”

How could I not want some cute guy to go with me? I don’t even know him, but how I can say no. It only takes a moment for me to give in.

“Fine. Meet me in front of the flower shop in the morning.”

“Cool. I will bring the coffee,” he says, grinning. “I’m Simon by the way.”

“Baz.”

“See you tomorrow, Baz.”

**Simon**

The look on his face when he sees me standing outside the flower shop in the morning with two coffees makes me think that he didn’t actually believe that I would come. Well, I did, and I don’t plan on leaving anytime soon.

“Here,” I say, holding out the coffee. I dig some sugar packets out of pocket and hand those over, too. “I wasn’t sure how you take your coffee. I forgot to ask yesterday.”

“This is good,” he says quietly.

He opens the door to the shop, and I follow him in.

“Baz!” A woman exclaims from behind the shop counter. Her hair is the same dark color as his, but she wears hers down, free from any hair product. I wonder if his would look that wavy if it wasn’t slicked back.

I don’t know what I was expecting when I imagined Baz’ aunt, but it wasn’t anything like the woman standing in front of us now. I thought someone who worked at a flower shop would be all soft edges and bouncy and maybe even a little eccentric. I don’t know anything about the woman yet, but if the tattoo sleeves that she is rocking are any indicator, she probably isn’t going to turn into a bouncing ball of energy any time soon.

“I see you brought a friend,” she says. “Who’s this?”

She says it in a kind way, like she is genuinely curious to hear about who I am. Oh no. What will Baz tell her? That I stalked him? He doesn’t know that for sure, but he could still say that.

“This is Simon. He wants to help with the flowers.”

“I see,” she says, and that’s it. If I was her, I would be asking ten more questions to figure out who I was. She doesn’t really seem to care, though. “Okay. Here are today’s flowers.” She hands Baz a small bouquet of purple flowers that I don’t know the name of, and we head out.

**Baz**

Fiona doesn’t ask too many questions in front of Simon, but I know that she will be calling me later, wanting all of the details. I don’t know what I’ll tell her. I can’t very well tell her that some guy followed me into the cemetery, and now I’m hanging out with him. If this can even be called hanging out.

We work in silence for a bit, and he helps clear away sticks and leaves, and I place the flowers, the final touch. He doesn’t start talking until we are once again out of the cemetery. He asks me whether I’m a student at the university and what classes I’m taking when I tell him that I am. He asks a lot of questions, but I don’t mind. It’s nice getting to know someone, and I can’t believe that bringing flowers to graves is what started it all.

Days pass of us doing this, and nearly a week goes by as we get to know each other on these early morning walks to the cemetery. Then, we walk to campus together, where we have completely different classes and don’t see each other for the rest of the day. I love having the company, and I think Simon does, too. He seems to be just as lonely as I feel. We both have friends, but it’s like we both have a similar deep-seated loneliness that comes from something different.

Friday, Simon is running late, and I start to get antsy. I stand there at the counter of the flower shop, holding some daffodils that are a vibrant yellow color and wait for him.

“I don’t think he’s coming,” I murmur.

“Give him another minute. He’s probably just late.”

I nod and glance at the door, then my watch, for what feels like the hundredth time. When did it become such a common thing that he went with me that I feel like I have to wait for him? I guess I just got so used to him being here before me that I never considered what else he should be doing. Maybe he found something better to do than go to a cemetery with me.

“So, while we wait…” She pauses and smiles at me, and I know that I’m not going to want to have this conversation. “Is there something going on between the two of you?”

“No.”

“So, he just comes along with you - a boy he barely knows - and there is absolutely nothing going on between you?”

“Nothing at all,” I say, shifting my weight to the other foot.

I should just go. He obviously isn’t going to show up. Why do I even care? Fiona’s right; I barely know him.

“I think that he would make good a boyfriend. You should-.” She stops because the bell of the door went off while she was talking. I so hope that it was loud enough that he couldn’t hear what my aunt was saying when he walked in.

“Hey. I’m sorry I’m late. The line at the coffee shop was extremely long, and there was this guy in front of me, who had the most complicated order in the history of coffee orders. And-.”

“Simon,” I say, cutting him off. He is so cute when he rambles.

His face turns a light shade of pink. “Yeah?” He asks shyly.

“It’s fine. Let’s go.”

“See you tomorrow, Baz.”

“Bye, Fiona.”

**Simon**

I hand him his coffee as I hold the door open for him. We don’t say anything as we walk alongside each other to the cemetery. I don’t think that I was supposed to hear what his aunt said, but I did. And I can’t unhear it. What does it mean, though?

I know what it means obviously. It means that he is gay. Or that he likes guys at least. But does it mean that he likes me? Was that what they were talking about when I walked in? Or was it just something that his aunt was saying? I don’t know, and I don’t want to think about it.

When we get to the Grave of the Day – Baz thinks it’s weird that I call it that – I kneel and help him clear the leaves from around the headstone. There are a lot piled around this one. The headstone looks old, and it is so worn that I can’t make out the date of birth or death. I think his first name starts with a D.

I stand up once the leaves have been cleared away and pull one off from where it has stuck to my fingerless gloves while I watch Baz carefully place the flowers. We stand there for a moment admiring our work and sipping on our coffee. My eyes keep finding their way back to him, though.

It’s like I can’t stop thinking about him no matter how hard I try. His eyes are a lighter shade of grey today than they usually are, and his hair is perfectly slicked back. His lips - his gorgeous lips - curve up on one side as some leaves rain down from one of the nearby trees.

“Time to go,” he says, turning to look at me. “We’re going to be late for class if we don’t head that way.”

Right, class. I should be thinking about the test I have later today instead of how nicely his jeans fit him. I nod at him, incapable of forming words right now.

He looks at me oddly, then says, “are you alright?”

“I-.” I don’t know what to say.

He steps closer, and I inhale sharply. The corners of his mouth turn down, and he looks like he might be worried about me.

“You’re looking at me strangely,” he comments.

I open my mouth but still can’t seem to make myself say anything.

“Seriously, Simon, are you okay?” He asks, concern etched into his forehead. Why does he have to look at me like that?

Since I can’t seem to form any words, I decide to try something else. I step closer to him and lift my free hand to his face, careful not to knock either of our coffees out of our hands and kiss him lightly. His eyes widen in surprise for a moment as he realizes what is happening before they fall shut. I follow suit.

**Baz**

The tips of his fingers are cold as they graze my cheek while his gloved palm is warm. It’s a strange mix of temperatures as his somehow warm lips meet my cold ones.

My coffee starts to slip from my hand, and I adjust my grip, reluctantly pulling away from him. I stare at him, stunned.

“I think I’m good,” he says with a sly smile. “How about you?”

I know that he’s asking more than how I’m doing, and I decide to answer his question the same way he answered mine. This kiss is even shorter than the last, but I rest my forehead lightly against his for a moment when I pull away again.

“I’m good.”


End file.
